Chapter 100: The Man Behind the Mask
The moment the double doors of the private chamber, where the buyer meets their acquired commodity, clanged shut, the chaos from the auction hall dulled to a distant hum.
However, Noir barely noticed it. His mind was still occupied by that voice—warm, deep, low as velvet and familiar in a way that made his heart stutter.
Not because of a good reason, but due to a dreadful one.
"You..." Noir whispered, his eyes still wide with disbelief. He cleared his throat after regaining his composure, then he replied with a bowed head, "You are mistaken, my lord. Addressing me in that way... I am just a mere commoner held captive in this house."
His back trickled with cold sweat. He racked his brain as he stood in front of the man, trying to search for a plausible explanation of how he was able to recognize him.
No living person knows that Noir is a guy. That is a secret that—everyone who assisted in his birth—had taken to their graves.
The man before him stepped back, the dim candle light glinting off his mask, the shade of amethyst catching the purple in Noir’s stunned gaze.
The stranger—no longer a stranger—watched him quietly, his expression unreadable beneath the mask. Then, with practiced grace, he removed it.
Noir’s breath hitched.
"I will never mistake you for anyone else, Your Highness," a voice filled with conviction and absolute admiration came from the man.
Noir’s pupils shook. He was cornered. He had no choice but to acknowledge the impossible.